Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

"There is no greater sorrow than to recall a happy time when miserable."

― Dante Alighieri

Sofiya

No, I must have given him my address; I'm just too hungover to remember it.

How would a stranger know where I live?

It didn't make sense.

I've been pondering what happened last night for the past thirty minutes, walking out of the house to clear my head and regain some much-needed energy to study today.

When I woke up this morning, my head felt ready to explode.

Covered in sweat, my breath reeking of a mix of vomit and alcohol, I almost had a panic attack trying to understand what had happened until some memories of the night came back.

Claire and I had been whining about our high heels, then she left me alone to sneak out with a bartender. I rushed to the toilet to empty my stomach and crashed in the back of a taxi to go home.

I panicked a bit thinking about how I put myself in danger but was grateful to be safe and sound in the comfort of my bed, still wearing the same outfit as the night before.

Yep, I must have babbled my address, and the driver made his best effort to find my place.

Thank God he did.

"Here's your lavender matcha. Enjoy! And feel free to leave us a good review," the barista said with a smile as he handed me my drink.

Smiling warmly, I thanked him and found a cozy spot on one of the sofas in the coffee shop.

After last night's fiasco, I desperately needed a change of scenery to heal my hangover, so on my walk of shame and desperation, I decided to spend the day studying at Mon Petit Bonheur, my go-to place whenever I needed a break from home.

As I settled down on the sofa, I took in the Parisian décor that surrounded me.

Vintage posters of the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and Montmartre adorned the walls. Soft jazz music played in the background, blending with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries.

The furniture was chic yet comfortable, with plush cushions in shades of burgundy and gold.

Now, I could finally escape into the world of Greek mythology and focus on Medusa, the snake-haired Gorgon .

In a forgotten corner of ancient Greece, there lived a girl named Medusa. She was known far and wide for her unmatched beauty, her laughter filling the olive groves as she danced under the sun.

But one day, Poseidon, the god of the sea, saw Medusa and desired her.

In his reckless passion, he violated and raped her in the sacred temple of Athena, the goddess of wisdom.

Enraged by this sacrilege and betrayal, Athena cursed Medusa.

Overnight, her silky hair twisted into thousands of venomous black snakes, their serpentine bodies intertwining where her locks once flowed. Her skin hardened to scales, and her eyes turned from golden to petrifying crimson.

Cast out from her home, Medusa wandered the desolate lands, her once joyous laughter now replaced by mournful cries.

Anyone who looked upon her face was turned to stone, leaving behind silent statues as witnesses to her tragic fate.

Alone and tormented by her cursed existence, Medusa hid from the world, longing for companionship but forever condemned to solitude.

As I got deeper into Medusa's tragic story, especially her assault by Poseidon and the curse that followed, it really hit me.

Her turn from a beautiful maiden into a feared monster because of someone else's violence felt all too real, mirroring the harsh reality many assault victims face.

Medusa's story shows how society often treats victims—blaming them and pushing them away instead of supporting them.

It's heartbreaking to see how she went from being loved to being shunned, all because of something that wasn't even her fault.

Her tale is a strong reminder of why we need compassion and solidarity with those who've been through trauma, helping create a place where victims can find healing and acceptance, not fear and isolation.

After spending three hours hunched over my laptop in the coffee shop, studying for exams, the stress was beginning to overwhelm me. I had to tackle three myths—Medusa, Psyche and Cupid, and Achilles—and write a detailed essay on one of them.

Keeping track of all the details, contradictions, and their relevance to our lives was proving to be a real challenge. To help me focus, I ordered another lavender matcha and a slice of lemon pie, savoring the sweet and tangy treat as I continued to study.

After about thirty minutes of struggling to articulate how Achilles' myth illustrates that no one can truly avoid their fate—that what's meant for you will inevitably find you—the beep of my phone caught my attention.

I reached for it and saw that Claire had texted me.

C.C:

Still mad at me?

I rolled my eyes and set my phone back down, refocusing on my computer.

But then it beeped again, signalling another text.

C.C:

Love ur top!

Red suits u sooo well.

Frowning, I glanced around the place, half hiding my face behind my computer.

My eyes landed on a middle-aged man with his back to me, wearing a cap and sipping coffee, a raven tattoo on his hand.

Nearby, a blonde woman with funny heart-shaped red glasses was drawing landscapes, a half-eaten piece of chocolate cake in front of her.

The coffee shop was otherwise empty.

My phone beeped again.

C.C:

I can still see u lol

I turned my head quickly towards the window, almost spilling my drink, and spotted Claire across the street, laughing and waving at me. She hurriedly crossed the street and entered the coffee shop and walked directly to my table, sitting down beside me.

"Hey girly! I knew I'd track you down here," Claire said, slipping off her jean jacket and grabbing my spoon to sneak a bite of my lemon pie slice. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. "Gosh, this place seriously makes the best pies."

I sat there in silence, my mouth hanging open as I stared at her.

She turned to me, furrowing her brows. "What's up? Is there something in my teeth?"

"I… I'm just surprised to see you here."

Claire chuckled and shrugged. "I figured you could use some company while studying. "

I scoffed, feeling my frustration bubble up. "It's pretty ironic you're saying that now, considering you left me alone last night just to hook up with some random bartender."

She playfully tickled my side. "Oh, come on, don't be such a prude! If you could, you'd do the same, I know it!"

My eyes widened. "Leaving you alone and intoxicated in an unfamiliar place just for a fling? No, Claire, I'd never do that. I'm not that shallow."

She gasped.

Slowly, she rose from her seat, swiped my drink, took a hefty gulp, and slammed it down.

"Let me clue you in, girly. It's no fucking surprise no guy wants to give you the time of day when your head is so far stuck up your own damn ass. You seriously need to lighten up. Life doesn't have to be so damn serious. Anyway, the shallow princess is outta here now. Good luck with your exams; you'll definitely need it."

With that, she snatched the last piece of my lemon slice, grabbed her jacket, and stormed out.

Her words landed like a sharp, unexpected blow.

I sank back into my seat, my throat tight.

Being judged for who I am, without any understanding of what I've endured, cuts deeper than words can express.

I've never really shared my past with Claire or any of my old friends; I didn't think they needed to know how unstable my life was.

The constant moving, the lack of real roots—each new place felt like a temporary shelter rather than a home.

I remember lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if we'd stay longer than a year. It's exhausting trying to keep friendships when you're always the new kid, the one just passing through .

There were times I'd get close to someone, and just when I'd start to feel safe, we'd pack up and leave again.

I'll always carry the weight of all the goodbyes I never got to say.

Knowing that people who once meant the world to me have probably forgotten my name leaves a hollow ache.

And as much as I wanted to trust Claire and let her in, I can't shake the fear that I'll end up disappearing again and leaving her behind. I wish I could tell her all this, but I'm scared she'd see me differently or, even worse, pity me and … I don't think I could handle that.

This fear runs deep within me. After my papa died, my life lost its color. At just six years old, I had to build walls around my heart to get through the pain and keep going. It's a heavy load to carry, with unseen scars that others don't see.

Yet, this is the nature of our existence—we craft facades to shield our vulnerable truths, fearful that revealing them will provoke rejection and disdain from a world quick to judge.

Like Medusa with snakes in her hair, I felt surrounded by unseen stories coiling around me. Each snake whispered tales of my struggles, their hisses muffled beneath the mask I wore.

It became my shield against a world that offered little room for authenticity, a barrier built to protect the fragile heart within me.